"Well, you guided us through the woods, anyway," said Tom. "The pleasure is ours," said Roy. "We can sit in a car and guide people through the woods; we're real heroes. What's the news?" "Do you know anything about the stage?" Tom asked. "We know _all_ about it. It's right over there. This fellow comes from Hillsburgh. He got out and walked ahead and stopped it. Didn't you? Hervey Willetts blew in from somewhere or other and they're carrying him to camp. Nothing serious. Got any candy?" "The crowd from the bus is all right then?" "Positively guaranteed." "And Hervey?" "He's used up another one of his lives, he's only got three left now. He must have hit the trail after Westy and I left the cove. He's going to get called down to-morrow. He should worry, he's used to that." "Where did they run into him?" Tom asked. "They found him hanging onto one of the horses. Curry thought he was a ghost, that's all _I_ know. This fellow went ahead and shouted back that the bridge had sneaked off. Didn't you, Gilly?" It was characteristic of Roy that he had already found a nickname for Gilbert Tyson. "Hervey say anything?" "Mumbled something, I don't know what." Tom pondered a few moments. "Humph," said he, "that's all right." He was satisfied about Hervey. The other phases of the episode did not interest him. What scoutmasters said and thought did not greatly concern him. He did not give two thoughts to the fact that Hervey was to be "called down." He had known scouts to be called down before. He had known credit and glory to miscarry. Hervey had done this thing and that was all that the young camp assistant cared about. It would not hurt Hervey to be called down. The picturesque young assistant, the very spirit and embodiment of adventure and romance, made a good deal of allowance for visiting scoutmasters and handbook scouts. He was broad and kind as the trees are broad and kind; exacting about big things, careless about little things. They knew all about scouting. He was the true scout. They had their manuals and handbooks. The great spirit of the woods was his. Hervey had made good. Why bother more about that? So he just said, "Not hurt much, huh? Well, if you kids want to go up to camp, we'll take care of this job." "Whose car is this, anyway?" asked Bert Winton. "I never saw it before. It's got bunged up a little, hey?" Tom looked at the roadster rather interestedly, whistling to himself. "It's gray," said Bert; "I never saw it before." "It wasn't damaged in the flood," said Tom. "Why wasn't it?" Roy demanded. "Because it's facing down stream. Anything that hit it would have hit it in the back. I don't know whose it is, but it came here damaged, if you want to know." "Sherlock Nobody Holmes, the boy detective," vociferated Roy. "We're not going to let it worry our innocent young lives, anyway, are we, Gilly? Oh, here comes somebody along the road! The plot grows thicker!"